"Do you know whether she succeeded in obtaining milk for the child?"
"It's hardly likely, I should say. Charity begins at home, doctor."
"It is natural and just that it should--but it is terrible, terrible! Where can Mrs. Turner have gone to?"
"Heaven knows. One thing I do know, doctor--she's got no friends; she wouldn't make any, kept herself to herself, gave herself airs, some said, though I don't go as far as that; I dare say she has her reasons, only when a woman sets herself up like that it turns people against her. Are you sure she aint in her room?"
"The room is empty."
"It's enough to be the death of a baby to take it out such a night as this. Listen to the wind."
A furious gust shook the house, and made every window rattle. To Dr. Spenlove's agitated senses it seemed to be alive with ominous voices, proclaiming death and destruction to every weak and helpless creature that dared to brave it. He passed his hand across his forehead in distress.
"I must find her. I suppose you cannot tell me of any place she may have gone to for assistance."
"I can't, sir. There's a bare chance that, as she had no coals and no money to buy 'em with, someone in the house has taken her in for the night. I'll inquire if you like."
"I shall be obliged to you if you will," said Dr. Spenlove, catching eagerly at the suggestion, "and I pray that you may be right."